Chapter Text
There is no world outside of what exists—to Frederick. And what exists to Frederick is what is visible, what is there at the moment. Thus, those must be the only matters of importance. A very simple and rational way to perceive the world.
Right now, the world is his dining room. It is empty aside from him and various nocturnal birds outside his window. This is very important, and you will need to remember it later.
It’s well past dinner time; the sun is already halfway across the planet. The only light sources within the house are three lit candles on the dining room table, situated in the middle. They have been burning for an indeterminate amount of time, but long enough that the longest of them is halfway burnt out, with the shortest dwindling far too close to the table. The candles are bare, wax to table cloth, table cloth to table. Droplets of wax fall to the table cloth; Frederick does not react.
He is staring across the dining room table, over the candles, at the seat at the foot of the table. It is empty, but pulled out as though someone were sitting there; his eyes focus where someone else’s might be.
There is a woman there now. Blonde haired, proper, feminine, the ideal figure. She stares at him with a matching expression. They do this until the candles have all burned to the table and the room is populated by various unique figures; a fish-headed woman converses with her passerine headed husband, while another man with neatly gelled hair stands in the archway of the dining room. The room dims once the candles burn out, but Frederick and the blonde woman retain their contest.
Ultimately, it is the woman that leaves to bring more candles and light them. Once she sits down, every other one of the guests sits down. To Frederick’s left, a man whose head is replaced by a floating, disconnected fish skeleton. To his right, something with the head of a goat—a ram’s horn on the right, but no horn on the other, dressed in a proper men’s suit above the waist and a pencil skirt below.
The candles are lit without any sort of match or lighter. Frederick smiles politely at the woman across from him; she gives him an identical smile, but neither of them seem particularly sincere.
“So,” he says first, “how have you been, Gigi?”
Gigi quirks a neatly kept brow, “I’ve been fine, Frederick. How have you been?”
“Oh, just splendid.”
Everyone bar the fishbone headed man and the goat thing seem uncomfortable at the tenseness between the exchange; the bird headed man exchanges an uncomfortable glance with the fish woman.
“A wonderful Tuesday night, isn’t it?” Frederick asks.